


Under Glass

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:52:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every Monday and Friday afternoon, Neville pays them a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Glass

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine. Written for fun, not profit.  
> **Warnings:** Not DH-compliant, angst (this is definitely not a happy tale), mention of character death (not Luna or Neville).  
> **A/N:** Written for puella_nerdii in January 2008, as part of the het_challenge at IJ.

 Every Monday and Friday afternoon, Neville pays them a visit.

Such has become the faithful routine ever since he left Hogwarts.

For countless hours, he keeps them company in those clean, clinical, colourless quarters that have 'mental institution' written all over them, and every time he calls upon them, he announces that Voldemort— no, he no longer fears that name; he hasn't for a while now— is gone forever, and that Bellatrix Lestrange is as well.

A bitter part of him regrets not having slain the wretched woman himself, but at the end of the day, he doesn't suppose it really matters whom that dubious honour befell. His parents have been avenged, and that's the main thing, even though it changes nothing about their tragic predicament.

They're a lost cause. The damage inflicted all those years ago is irreversible even now, notwithstanding all the medical progress of the past decade.

Still, with a fierce and unrelenting determination, Neville keeps reiterating that the Dark Lord and his most loyal minion are dead, and against all thinkable odds, he goes on hoping that some day, somehow, in some way, his mum and dad will understand his words and find some small comfort in them.

Last week, he received an important Owl. Headmistress McGonagall offered him a teaching position, and tempted though Neville was, he decided not to accept.

Hogwarts is a long way away from home—from Gran—and it's quite a trip from there to St. Mungo's too, and seeing how Apparition still doesn't agree with him.... It's a skill he has yet to master. Every ill-fated attempt only leaves him right back where he started and feeling rather queasy to boot.

Besides, there will be other jobs, closer to home. Of that, Neville is as good as certain. He merely has to bide his time.

As he makes his way back to the exit, he catches sight of Hermione Granger; well, technically Hermione Weasley now, though that's not a name she wishes to go by. She has particular, liberated views on such matters, and in fact, calling her anything but Auror (or Ms.) Granger is generally considered a very bad idea, assuming one values one's life and limbs, that is.

"Oh hello," Neville says. "Is everything all right?"

Hermione shakes her head. The smile she gives him is laced with an unmistakable sadness.

In a hushed tone, she goes on to tell him that Luna Lovegood was brought in that morning, following some sort of explosion at _The Quibbler_.

Obviously, Hermione isn't allowed to reveal even the slightest detail of the ongoing investigation, although she does mention that it might have been foul play, an act of revenge most likely, and that Blaise Zabini is being named as the prime suspect.

She then adds in a hushed, solemn tone that she isn't terribly optimistic that justice will prevail.

For one thing, there isn't exactly any hard evidence at hand. Anything that might have been useful got blown to smithereens during the worst of the blast.

Not to mention that the past few decades have seen the Zabinis get away with far worse.

_This one is her ninth husband, isn't he?_ Hermione considers with an inner sneer.

Yes, ninth or tenth, and everyone has his or her suspicions about what happened to the others, but it never goes any farther than that: assumptions and rumours.

It's almost as though the woman and her son are untouchable, which, of course, is no use to either this investigation or to Luna's wellbeing.

Neville nods as the grimness of it all slowly sinks in. "How's Luna doing?" he then asks, bracing himself for the answer.

  
*

He enters the room to find Luna sitting in the rocking chair that Harry brought in on the third day.

"Having some familiar pieces from her home around might help speed up her recovery," an expert in trauma-related maladies had suggested.

Luna rocks back and forth, gazing out of the window and staring intently at something only she seems capable of seeing.

Powerless, Neville shakes his head in frustration and sighs

She's barely twenty-three, but she might as well be a hundred, or five.

The Healers in charge of her case claim that she's 'mostly fine' and that there are still plenty of reasons to remain 'cautiously optimistic'.

Her bruises have healed, and no lasting physical damage has been done.

But that's not the whole story, of course. No, things aren't quite as simple as all that, or else she wouldn't be at St. Mungo's still, an in-patient, being monitored closely well over two months after the blast.

Her hospitalisation continues for very good reason.

Luna never speaks anymore. She hasn't uttered a single world since _The Quibbler_'s office building was blown to smithereens, and her entire life with it.

Sometimes she hums, though: chirpy, childlike tunes that sound like eerie lullabies. No one has ever heard them before.

It's almost like she's living in another world.

All Neville can do is hope that it's at least a happy one, one where her father is still alive and the fresh green meadows are full of Snorckacks.

*

  
He visits her whenever he goes to see his parents, and on Wednesday mornings, too, because Luna reminds him of a small, caged bird, bereft of freedom and sunlight, and with clipped wings that prevent it from flying.

He never expected life to have another tragedy in store for him, and certainly not one that would hurt this much, not after all the anguish he'd already suffered over his parents, and he was convinced that he'd be able to cope, that he'd grown stronger, but his present reality pains him every waking moment, deeply and terribly so, and he isn't coping, not really, not at all.

It's the unfairness of it all that gets to him the most.

Someone like Luna shouldn't merely fly; she should soar.

And the worst of it is that he realises full well what will happen next. He's seen it before, after all.

As time goes by, history will repeat itself.

Initially, in veiled terms and whispered words, everyone will speak of the sad fate of the Lovegood girl, of a promising young life tragically wasted, until one day, gradually, they'll have forgotten her completely in favour of other news; good or bad, it won't even matter.

And Luna, for her part, will be safely locked away; out of sight, just like his parents, so that her existence won't provoke any assumed responsibility or guilt in a world that wants nothing but to move forward with its society that lacks any time or patience for the sick, the weak and the walking wounded.

In hindsight, Neville wishes that he'd been less afraid of Snape and better at Potions, or indeed better at anything that would have actually been useful later on in life, in those situations where it really mattered.

But there's nothing he can do in this case but to put his faith in the Healers and to pray to any gods that might be listening as he wonders wearily, why, of all people, does it have to be Luna, who always believed in the innate goodness of people, who'd never willingly cause harm and who was always the first, if not the only one in line to help the needy?

This isn't fair at all.

Neville watches her as she wordlessly stares off in the distance, and the sight of her odd, dreamy smile makes his heart clench.

*

Two months later, Blaise Zabini's smug, grinning face dons the front page of the _Daily Prophet_.

"Substantial lack of evidence," Hermione said, "so the Ministry had no choice but to let him go."

_Isn't that always the way?_ Neville thinks, sighing in resignation as he chucks the newspaper in a nearby bin before quickly making his way up the steep hospital steps.

*

It's a sunny day in June. With a Muggle crayon she draws various shapes on a sheet of crisp, white parchment.

A sun, a moon, fluffy clouds, smooth circles, a starfish, and finally, a profile of some horned creature with a pointy snout.

Neville smiles.

He's afraid to get his hopes up, but perhaps this means that she remembers. Maybe it's a hint of proof that somewhere inside that empty, distant, shell of a person the old Luna is still lurking, waiting until it's safe to come out again.

She smiles as she always does and she at last meets his eyes, but she still shows no signs of recognising him.

Only Harry, Hermione, Ron and Neville visit her here now.

The novelty has worn off, and company only loves misery back for so long.

*

Autumn leaves are falling and Neville has a plan.

It's risky, but it might just work. Besides, it's his only chance, so he has no choice but to take it, even when doing so involves breaking into a Ministry building and committing grand theft.

There's a Time Turner, one Hermione told him about, and he doesn't suppose that her mentioning it in the first place was any kind of coincidence.

Taking it goes without a hitch—funny how the alarm wasn't even set—but trembling, anxious hands have a way of smashing even the best laid plans to pieces.

His timing is off by a good five minutes.

_Too little, too late._

Out in the street, he yells at the top of his voice, jumps up and down in an attempt to warn her, to get her to come outside.

But she doesn't understand his intentions. She just stands there, smiling, and waves at him.

He's about to storm into the building to get her out, and her father too if he can, but the next thing he knows is that everything goes pitch black.

Neville wakes up with a pounding headache and shards of glass digging painfully into his right palm.

He opens his hand to discover that the Time Turner is broken beyond repair.

He sighs, curses loudly, and supposes that all things considered, he should have probably foreseen something like this.

He's not Harry, after all, but then even Harry is barely Harry anymore these days.

*

A long year passes.

Neville lives only a street away from St. Mungo's now, because it's become the only place he ever goes to; well, aside from the small market around the corner, and his Gran's house every Sunday for lunch.

He keeps telling Luna that she's fine, or is it really himself whom he's trying so desperately to reassure?

Regardless, he brings her the latest news about plants, reads to her from medical journals he borrows in the lobby, and one day, he relates to her, grinning from ear to ear, the little titbit that Hermione picked up at the office.

Quite by chance, a herd of Snorckacks was discovered somewhere in the Australian outback. The Sydney Auror team had to be called in to Obvliate over a dozen Muggles. The reason for the intervention had something to do with genes that might prove that these creatures were magical, and the Ministry couldn't afford a possible leak of such proportions.

Luna's eyes sparkle at the news, but Neville knows that this doesn't necessary mean anything. 'Cautiously optimistic' was the term the Healers used, though it's been a while now since they last said it.

Weeks? Months? He can't quite remember.

They only smile at him these days, and he can't tell whether the gesture is one of politeness or if it's in fact fuelled by pity.

Still, Neville has never been a quitter.

He has enough hope for everyone; the kind that can move mountains; the kind that's stronger than time and surpasses all things rational.

Luna, he thinks, would be proud of him if she realised how strongly he's been hanging on.

He was so horribly afraid before, so terribly uncertain.

Now, however, he clings to his beliefs with all the force he can muster, and this isn't denial, in case anyone should ask. Not that they do, because deep down, they mostly understand.

Tragedy changes people, and Neville isn't quite himself anymore, or maybe he's more himself than he ever was.

It's a matter of perception, he thinks, as he recites the mantra over and over in his mind:

_Some day._

Some day, his parents will recognise him once more.

Some day, Luna will smile, say his name and throw her arms around him just like she used to, and make him feel like a better version of himself just by being there, being her, and they'll celebrate Christmases together and Valentines, and he'll finally tell her how he feels about her, how he's felt about her ever since he was fifteen.

_Some day._

In the meantime, all he has to do is to keep believing.

  
*    



End file.
